


One Last Thing

by EmperorNortonII



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmperorNortonII/pseuds/EmperorNortonII
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before she can really consider herself to be out of the fight, Claire has one last debt to pay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is the novelization of the opening scene of a Resident Evil sequel that I'd like to pitch someday, but probably never will.

Claire's at her usual corner table, the one place in the cafe where she can see both the front door and fire exit simultaneously. She's reading a book (nonfiction; Emma Goldman) and drinking a latte, and the next time she looks up, Ada is seated on the other side of the table.

She wears a red, expensive-looking greatcoat that's buttoned to her neck, with both hands covered by soft leather gloves, and her hair looks fresh from the salon. When they make eye contact, Ada smiles pleasantly, the same way bank tellers do.

"Hey," Claire says a few seconds later. "I guess you got my message."

"An acquaintance brought it to my attention, yes," Ada says. "It got me curious."

Claire closes the book and sets it down. "Leon told me about Spain."

"I'm almost positive he shouldn't have done that. Do you even have a security clearance?"

Claire opens her mouth to say one of several things, at least one of which is pretty close to an attack. Instead, she says, "It's complicated. The point is that Leon was never sure who you were working for, but he thinks he can trust you."

"Really."

"Leon," Claire says, and shrugs.

"Is this what you wanted to talk about, Claire?" Ada hasn't moved or lost the quiet smile.

The conversation pauses briefly when a waitress notices Claire isn't alone anymore and hustles over. Ada orders black tea and a pumpkin scone, and they both wait to talk again until the waitress is out of earshot.

"No." Claire toys with her coffee cup for a moment. "I'm looking for a favor."

If that surprises Ada, she doesn't show it. "I'm listening."

Claire reaches down to her messenger bag, which sits on the floor between the wall and her chair, and takes a photograph out of its side pocket. She slides it across the table to Ada, who traps it with one finger before picking it up.

"The boy in the middle is Steve Burnside," Claire says, "born in 1981 in Vancouver. His dad was an Umbrella researcher who got caught selling information."

"Ah," Ada says. "This is about that incident in Antarctica."

"How do you--?" Claire shakes her head. "Of course you know about that. You're Ada."

Ada's smile becomes marginally more genuine.

"How much do you know?"

"The water cooler version," Ada says, and has to pause because her order arrives. She adds a packet of sugar to the tea and stirs it before continuing. "You were captured after a spectacularly ill-advised attempt to infiltrate Umbrella's Paris building, but somehow, you managed to escape and get word to your brother. Ten days later, the two of you showed up in Antarctica, shot everyone, and blew the place up. I know a number of people who are upset they didn't think of that themselves."

"It--" Claire drinks some coffee to knock the bile back down her throat. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh, of course it wasn't, but it's at least a useful story," Ada says, "about love and revenge and what happens when you're crossed. It's not an accident that for the most part, for the last few years, you've been left alone. Whether you meant to or not, you successfully established that an attack against you comes at a very high price indeed."

Claire doesn't say anything.

"But that's a bit off the subject," Ada says, and glances at the photograph. "Steve Burnside."

"He was one of the inmates at Rockfort," Claire says quietly. "We escaped together, but the plane had a remote autopilot and we couldn't figure out how to disable it. We ended up in Antarctica," she has some more coffee, "he was infected, and he died. The virus was called T-Veronica."

Ada's poker face wavers slightly. "Ah. Well, that does make sense."

"How?"

"It would explain some things about Wesker's current operations," Ada says. There's a certain blithe quality to how she says it; it's a cheerful, naked lie of omission.

"He was there, in Antarctica. I saw him, right before the facility exploded," Claire says, and now she's scanning the crowd, paranoid in a way she hasn't been in a while, "and he said there was a chance Steve might be... that he might not be dead. That he could come back, somehow."

Ada purses her lips.

"I need to know, one way or the other, what happened to him," Claire says. "Dead or alive. I owe him."

"This is a rather large favor you're asking for, Claire," Ada says. "I don't know what Leon knew to tell you, but at the moment, I'm about as popular with Wesker as your brother is."

"Yeah, we figured that was probably the case after you shot Krauser."

Ada raises one eyebrow. "He really has no secrets from you."

"Yeah," Claire says, and manages a smile of her own. "It drives his handler nuts."

Ada chuckles. She pulls a small piece off of the scone and pops it into her mouth.

"I'm not asking you to go right back after Wesker and hug it out," Claire says. "That's not a 'favor.' It's just that... if anyone is likely to randomly stumble across something like that, it's you. I'm asking you to keep your eyes open for me."

Ada nods. "That much, I'm happy to do."

"Just like that?"

"You could be a useful person to have in my corner someday," Ada says, "and I'm not entirely unsympathetic." She holds the photo up between two fingers. "Let me make copies of this. I can mail you back the original."

"Sure, let me write down--" Claire shakes her head. "You probably already know my address."

"Of course I do. I've been watching you for the last four days."

Claire stares at her.

"There was a very real chance that this was a sting operation," Ada says, "and I needed to be sure. If it's any consolation, if there's anyone else watching you, they would have to be significantly better than I am."

"Yeah. Thanks," Claire says. "I guess."

Ada puts the photograph in her pocket, then picks up her teacup. "I assume your brother is on the hunt for this as well?"

"He is," Claire says, "but... look. I love Chris, I trust him, he's really good at what he does..."

"But."

"He only thinks in straight lines. Good, bad; right, wrong. That's it." Claire goes for another sip of coffee, but the cup's empty, so she sets it down. "I think he's probably got it in him to beat Wesker, somehow, if anyone does. I don't think he'd ever be able to find anything that Wesker really did not want him to find, and that's Steve. I need you, because..."

"It takes a thief," Ada says gently. "I understand that."

"I wasn't going to put it like that--"

"No, it's a fair assessment." Ada eats some more of her scone. "And you're probably right. Albert has no real ability to predict what Chris will do, and I'd imagine it's down to that. They simply approach the world from incompatible angles."

_"Albert."_ "What is your _deal_?" Claire blurts out.

She didn't mean to say that, and the question hangs in the air between them for what seems like a long time.

"It's a reasonable thing to ask, I suppose," Ada says, "even if it's never been asked quite like that." She looks thoughtful. "Let me put it to you like this: if I could paint, I would be an artist. If I could play an instrument, I would be a musician.

"Instead, I can steal, and pretend to be someone I'm not, and lie without guilt.

"So I am what I am."

"And Leon's got a thing for you," Claire says, and shakes her head. "Two worlds collide."

"I suppose that's as good a way to see it as any," Ada says. She eats the last of her scone, drinks the rest of her tea, and stands up. "If I learn anything, I'll be in touch."

"How?"

"I don't always have the full ability to choose how," Ada says, "but you'll know it's me."

She puts a twenty-dollar bill down on the table and, without waiting for a response, walks out of the cafe, her heels clicking sharply on the tile.


End file.
